


Family Comes First

by roserelease



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: Character Death, Gen, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-03
Updated: 2013-11-03
Packaged: 2017-12-31 10:19:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,664
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1030536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roserelease/pseuds/roserelease
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Jason wakes up, he’s back in hell. But this time a guardian angel may have answered his prayers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Family Comes First

_“Fingers_ out _of the bowl, please.”_

_Jason grinned around his finger – which had just taken a generous swipe at the raw cookie dough Alfred had finished whipping into a smooth blend – and sucked his finger clean.  
“Was just getting a sneak peak,” he replied, grin widening at the shake of Alfred’s head. He swung his feet to and fro above the kitchen floor, hands gripping the side of the counter he sat on, much to Alfred’s constant dismay. No matter what he said, Jason always seemed to find his way back up there. “You make the best cookies I’ve ever tasted.”_

_“Thank you, Master Jason.”_

_Jason’s thick eyebrows furrowed, his bottom lip jutting out just a tad as his face scrunched into a frown. “You keep calling me that.”_

_Preparing the cookie sheet, Alfred answered without missing a beat, “Yes, I refer to everyone who lives in this manor as ‘Master.’”_

_“Well, quit it. Makes it sound like you’re my slave or something.”_

_Alfred paused long enough to Jason A Look. “I am not your ‘slave.’” Then, carefully, he spooned a balanced portion of cookie dough onto the sheet. The spoons clinked against each other as he scraped off the excess dough. “But you_ are _family now, as well as living here. Ergo, you are a ‘Master’ of this manor, just as much as Master Dick and Master Bruce are. It’s a_ formality _, albeit an affectionate one, I assure you.”_

_The groan that rumbled out of Jason is loud; it almost brought a smile to Alfred’s face to hear such an indignant and youthful sound in the manor once more. It had been far too long._

_“Fiiiine, whatever. Do what you want.” Sighing loudly, Jason hopped off the counter and made a beeline for the fridge, scratching his back as he poked his head in and took a long and indulgent look. “Not like I’m staying here all that long, anyway. Knock yourself out.”_

_Alfred looked up from the cookie sheet and watched as Jason mentally debated on whether he was up for another pre-night-time snack or not. The answer, of course, turned out to be yes. The boy was a bottomless pit of hunger._

_“On the contrary,” he said as he returned to task, “I think you’ll be with us for quite some time.”_

_Jason shot him a strange look as he dug into the crisp apple he’d grabbed out of the fruit bowl on the counter. “For your sake,” he said through a large, muffling bite, “I hope not.” It sounded like a joke and yet didn’t feel anything like one._

 

-

 

This is serious; he’s in trouble.

It’s not often that Jason admits something like that to himself. But it’s also not often that he lands himself in this kind of situation.

All he knows is that his head is _pounding_ like there’s little people inside his skull and they’ve taken up the god-awful hobby of banging sledgehammers against the inner walls of it. When he opens his eyes it takes him a moment to realize that he hasn’t gone blind but has, in fact, been blindfolded. Blindfolded, gagged, and tightly bound with what feels like too many metal chains to something like a support beam that digs into his back. 

The act of breathing alone feels too tight to comfortably do, let alone budge an inch in any direction.

Jason barely recalls where he was before this. It’s a blur. His head aches at the effort to take to try and remember, or so Jason assumes until he distantly realizes that his head hurts because it is hurt. His forehead feels sticky. Blood? He bites back a groan, tries harder to remember, to think past the haze of pain and waking consciousness. He was... on an assignment... putting an end to some new and local drug ring that was exploiting the homeless and desperate in the poorest parts of the city. Had been punching out some rich fucker literally crying for mercy when...

A cool, raspy voice cuts through the silence like a well-handled knife.

“Falling asleep on me again, boy blunder? Your manners sure haven’t improved any since the last time we danced. What would Bats say if he saw you acting like this? So ruuuude and inconsiderate.”

Jason’s heart stops and his mouth runs dry.

No.

“What, not even going to dignify that with a response? Kids these days... But I guess you’re not a _kid_ anymore.” A bony hand – gloved? - playfully slaps at Jason’s cheek, like an uncle teasing a child at some family reunion. The same hand then _pinches_ his cheek and almost forces a hiss out of him.

“My, how you’ve ever gotten big. So big and grown up. Can’t say any of us were expecting that one!” There’s suddenly warm, sour breath ghosting in Jason’s face. (He lurches against the chains; his heart mimics the motion when he remembers _he can’t move_ ). He’s close. Closer than Jason initially thought.

“Saaay, how’d you do it? It’s okay, you can tell Uncle Joker all about it. I won’t give away your big secrets.” The chuckle that follows is a low rumble, like the distant thunder of an approaching storm. And like the pounding in Jason’s head, it reverberates inside him, turning his insides to ice and his skin to fire. It makes Jason’s stomach _twist_ in a way he hasn’t felt in a long time.

Though not long enough ago. Never long enough.

He could never forget that voice or that laugh. It follows him everywhere he goes, asleep or awake, a distant echo that refuses to completely fade away into silence.  
But now it’s here, it’s here and fresh in his ears and he’s tied back and down in every way possible.

Jason can’t _breathe._

“...Y’know, when kids are punished, they normally learn their lesson. Not turn right away and...” 

Jason doesn’t catch the rest. Only the second round of chuckling that follows a moment later. Blood is pounding in his ears, overpowering everything else outside of him. The cold, metal chains that bind his entire body almost don’t feel real. Like they’re a figment of his imagination, like his mind has tied himself to whatever it is he’s tied to all on its own, and the sick fuck in front of him is just taking advantage of the situation. Taking advantage all over again.

His limbs just won’t obey him. All over again. His mind screams MOVE, _MOVE_ DAMNIT, but the chains creak with disobedience and his muscles cry out at the rebellion, no matter how hard he pulls nothing gives. And the more he pulls the louder the chuckling gets, and the harder it is to breathe and think.  
Fingers suddenly dig into his chin and force his head still – had it been moving? – and yanks it forward. Like forcing a child to look up at a scolding parent; a parent who has had more than enough and will make sure the child listens this time.

“ _Look at me—_ ”

(but that’s what he is all over again, a kid again, powerless and unable to take control of anything despite his size, despite all the time he put into _never being_ in this place ever again. Only able to watch the seconds flicker by and say his prayers. Not again. Not again not again not again)

“—you’re not _listening_.” 

(it’s hard to listen when all Jason can hear is the thundering of his blood and how hard and quick and painfully he’s panting)  
The hand’s gone. Breath’s no longer in his face. Sound of gravel shuffling under feet.

“But maybe that’s my fault. Well, I can’t take all of the blame. Some lies on you and Batsy-boy too. But I’ll take my fair share. It’s only right that I do!”  
Silence. Then... _snickt._

Jason knows that noise anywhere.

The safety of a gun has been taken off.

“It’ll be okay. Uncle Joker will take care of everything. We have a long night ahead of us, but it’ll be worth it, you’ll see! We’ll just roll back our sleeves, get out the ol’ the elbow grease, and soon we’ll be good as new! Heheh _eheh._ Or at the very least, you’ll be.”

This is it. Jason’s staring death in the face once more and he can’t even fucking see.

Once again, he’s alone and powerless. Deep down, always alone and powerless.

It makes Jason want to cry and laugh and maybe do both at the same time. But all that comes out are harsh pants.

“Let’s start with the hand, hmm? I’ve had it in for that hand of yours since the day it unwisely decided to cross paths with my skull.”

_Click._

Jason flinches.

_B a n g._

Seconds pass but there’s no pain.

It’s shock, it has to be. 

... But there’s no taunting either, no sounds. Nothing but Jason and his rapid pants.

It takes a minute before Jason’s brain belatedly puts it together. Somehow, between the flinch and the bang, he’d missed the dense sound of The Joker’s body thumping to the ground. 

He’s not sure how much time passes between the realization that _The Joker is dead_ and when he hears someone approach him from in front, but the next thing Jason knows he feels the body warmth of another person – a living person – entering his space. His body is still trembling along the edges, like the aftershocks of an earthquake that’s shaken him to the very core of his self. He wants to vomit.

Delicate hands further enter his space and carefully begin to undo the metal chains binding him. Jason tries to think of something to say but finds words beyond him. Then his senses are filled with the familiar scents of home (or what once was home): the earthiness of crackling firewood, the lemon-scented cleaner that permeates nearly every room of the Manor, a variety of spices from the always-busy kitchen, a fresh pot of tea. Jason’s mind goes blank.

Metal chains undone, Jason’s body sags against the post behind him, his body still shivering in spite of himself. Then those same gentle hands lift the blindfold from his eyes.  


Jason blinks his eyes open against the harsh, artificial lighting of the warehouse and up at his assumed saviour. At first, he doesn't believe it. But then he glances behind the man and sees The Joker’s body sprawled against the ground, brains and blood painting the cold floor with a strange Rorschach that, from his angle, looks almost like a butterfly or moth emerging from the side of his head... or a maybe bat.

Jason’s blinks his eyes and refocuses on the man in front of him. An endless moment passes before Jason can even bring himself to whisper under his breath, “No...”  


The response he receives is a light hand on his shoulder and Alfred’s voice reassuring him. 

“It’s all right now, Master Jason. I’ve got you.” 

 

-

 

_“Careful now, Master Jason,” Alfred warned without looking away from the stack of dishes he had begun tackling, a combination of that night’s dinner and the baked goods that shortly followed. A plate squeaked as it was scrubbed clean by his hands and trusted dish cloth. The dishwasher hummed pleasantly in the background as it worked half the load of dirty dishes and utensils._

_“We wouldn’t want a repeat of last night.”_

_Jason takes another large bite of chocolate chip cookie, nearly devouring the entire thing in one bite. “Mmph, can you blame me? They’re_ amazing. _You could sell these and make a fortune! Why aren’t you doing that? People would kill for these.”_

_That prompted a small but amused smile out of the butler. “Compliment accepted, Master Jason.”_

_Still, enjoyable desserts or not, Alfred chanced a glance over his shoulder a minute later. Sure enough, Jason was still eating away, practically gorging himself at this point. He’d taken seconds at dinner – and the portions Jason took were never small – and had begun devouring the cookies as soon as they were cool enough to not burn his fingers.  
A frown touched Alfred’s aging face. “Those cookies aren’t going to disappear if you don’t eat them all right away,” he said, thinking again of the vicious vomiting fit Jason had endured the night before. “I promise you they will be there later.”_

_Almost instantly Jason stopped chewing, the hand he’d been wiping on his pant leg freezing in place. He returned Alfred’s stare with an intense one of his own. It reminded Alfred of when Bruce had been but a child, stubbornly refusing to cease sneaking into his parent’s room and sleeping on their bed in the dead of the night, or using small dabs of his late father’s favourite cologne. It was a stubbornness born from a deep and unshakeable need that could not be denied, and to see it mirrored in Jason’s eyes threatened to break Alfred’s heart anew.  
Slowly swallowing, something like a smirk forced its way on Jason’s face. “Hey, it’s not my fault your cookies are that good.”_

_Alfred dried his hands on a nearby and unused cloth. “I understand,” he said, though he comprehended well enough that there was only so much of Jason’s background that he could understand. “But I promise you,” he added, “that they won’t be going anywhere. Your stomach is still unfamiliar with food this rich. Perhaps it would be good to give your body a break.”_

_A strange look passed over Jason’s features, like he couldn’t for a second believe a word Alfred had said. Instead of responding to Alfred’s concern, he said, “You really think I’m gonna be here by the end of the week, don’t you?”_

_Setting the cloth aside, Alfred turned around to fully face the sceptical looking child and said, “Yes, I do. I think you’ll be with us for quite some time, Master Jason.”  
They stared at each other, nothing but the soft hum of the dishwasher between them. Then Jason looked away and wet his lips. Alfred waited, for Jason looked like he wanted to say something, but he didn’t. He simply turned his intense stare to the floor, furiously working his bottom lip between his teeth._

_“Whatever.”_

_Alfred raised an eyebrow at that. “Whatever” wasn’t acceptable response, much less the note he wanted to end the conversation at. He wasn’t certain if perhaps physically reaching out would be far too familiar at that stage in their relationship, but he knew he had to do something. So without hesitation he followed his instincts and approached the young boy, placing a light but firm hand on Jason’s shoulder. He waited until Jason dragged his eyes from off the floor and looked up at him. It had been a long time since Alfred had seen eyes that full of fear and hope, and he aimed to see the latter win out over the former._

_“I understand it may be hard to believe that your stay here will be anything but temporary,” he began, “but as far as Master Bruce and I are concerned, you are one of the family now. I know past experiences may have taught you otherwise, but family is_ everything _in this home. We don’t leave anyone behind here.”_

_At first, Jason didn’t react. His uncharacteristic silence made Alfred wonder if he had completely tuned him out, not out of normal teenage rebellion but out of dread, unable to accept any indication that life would be improving for him. To have lost so much and lived with so little, Alfred imagined all of this would be hard to accept. The proof was in the food Jason snuck out of the kitchen and hid in his pockets to eat when he felt he needed, seemingly unaware that Alfred always noticed the missing food afterwards and refrained from saying a word about it._

_Eventually the blank expression on Jason’s face broke into a smirk, challenging yet scared, and he said in a playful tone, “We’ll see.”_


End file.
